


Undaunted

by AvalonTeal



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 07:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17300603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvalonTeal/pseuds/AvalonTeal
Summary: For a moment Enoch considers the same question that had briefly entered his mind after the race: Did Ren let me win?But that question lost any significance when Marcus was waiting for him outside of the track, helmet under his arm, hair wind-swept-perfect.“Look at you rookie—“ Marcus had winked. “Stealing my win like a pro.”Maybe it was the residual high of the race; maybe it was the sight of Marcus’s tight red jacket and that crooked smile.“Buy the new champion a drink?” Enoch had asked.





	Undaunted

Ask anyone who Marcus Ren is and they’ll tell you: He’s fast, fearless, reckless. A legend on the track.   
They’ll tell you that he’s crazy smart—his mods and creations are gutsy, if not totally, unreliably, insanely, experimental.  
Everyone on the tower knows Marcus. Risk-taker, daredevil, adrenaline-junkie Marcus Ren. And now Marcus is in his lap, tongue in his mouth, fingers at his shoulders, in his hair.

Marcus-fucking-Ren, that quick grin, even quicker taunts over the comms.  
  
_“C’mon Bast, it’s like you don’t even want to beat me.”  
_  
For a moment Enoch considers the same question that had first briefly entered his mind after the race: _Did Ren let me win?_  
But that question lost any significance when Marcus was waiting for him outside the track, helmet under his arm, hair wind-swept-perfect.  
  
“Look at you rookie—“ Marcus had winked. “Stealing my win like a pro.”  
  
Maybe it was the residual high of the race; maybe it was the sight of Marcus’s tight red jacket and that crooked smile.  
  
“Buy the new champion a drink?” Enoch had asked.

/  
  
Ren’s kisses are fast and hungry. Like everything else Ren does, there’s a frantic pace to this, caution thrown to the wind and discarded without a second thought. Marcus Ren has always been a comet let loose, promising adventure and danger to anyone else willing to come along for the ride. Enoch had always been more than willing.  
  
Enoch breaks away, rests his forehead against Ren’s. Marcus is watching him.  
  
“Be honest, Bast,” He says, almost in a whisper. “How long you been waiting to ask me out?”  
  
_Since the first time I saw you race. Since the first time I saw you smile. Since the first time you noticed me, spoke to me, stood next to me in the Cosmodrone less than a breath away...  
  
_Instead Enoch threads fingers through Marcus’s hair, tugging gently, kissing his throat.  
  
“A while then?” Marcus laughs, voice raising an octave when Enoch tugs his hair harder. Kisses give way to teeth, sucking bruises down his neck. “Hah, _fuck,”_ Marcus says. “Got a taste for going fast now, huh?"  
  
Enoch smiles. “Have to go fast to keep up with you.”  
  
A pleasant warmth is flooding every nerve, pooling in the base of his limbs and Marcus’s heat is becoming unbearable.  
  
“Take your jacket off,” He murmurs into Ren’s throat as he twists out of his own. He helps Marcus out of his shirt while he’s at it—hell, it’s all coming off anyway. Marcus is grinding against him now, nuzzling his neck, breaths hard and fast.  
  
“C’mon, Bast,” Marcus hisses, reaching for Enoch’s belt buckle.

/  
  
In all honesty, asking him for drinks had been a hail Traveler— an improvised first step into a sequence of events Enoch had been entertaining in his mind for months.  
  
_“Just ask him out,”_ his ghost had said on more than one occasion.  
  
But it wasn’t that simple, not for Enoch at least. Ren was a fucking celebrity, a brilliant force of energy and genius that never stood still. It had been exhausting chasing that thrill, exhilarating keeping pace, and for the longest time Enoch wondered if he’d ever get close enough to—

They’d first really spoken in the hanger bay, Enoch completely made a mess of introductions.  
  
“It’s Marcus Ren, right?” _Of course it was. Idiot. You sound like an idiot._ But Marcus had just looked up from his sparrow, grinned.  
  
“Yup, and you’re Enoch Bast?”  
  
The fact that Ren had known his name made him even more nervous and Enoch completely forgot the script he’d gone over in his head.  
  
“Yeah, yep! Sure am! You know me?” _Smooth.  
_  
“Seen you at the track,” Marcus winked. “You’re pretty good for a titan.”  
  
"T-thanks,” Enoch said, panicked when he didn’t know what else to say. Enoch could punch a Kell in the face without hesitation, charge into melee with hundreds of Thrall, but put him in the same room as Marcus and he was a star-struck, floundering idiot.  
  
“Um, anyway, I’ve got to go, h-have a great day!” _Have a great day??_ Enoch had hurried away at that point, sure that his face was red.  
  
“See you on the track,” Marcus called after him.  
  
“Have a great day?” Enoch’s ghost asked once they were out of the hanger.  
  
“Shutup.”

/

They’ve stripped completely now, their clothing in a pile. Enoch spends a moment taking it all in, noting tattoos, scars. Ren is lean muscle, the kind of build hunters usually had, one Enoch had always found attractive. Ren is still in Enoch’s lap, leans close to his ear.  
  
“I’ve won a lot of races—“ he says. “Riding you is going to way more fun."  
  
Enoch has to bite his lip to keep any semblance of self-control.  
  
“Been waiting to use that line?” He asks, kissing Ren’s shoulder.  
  
Marcus laughs, “It’s a good line.”

Enoch chuckles, presses a slow, slow kiss to Ren’s chest; traces his hands down Ren’s ribs, his hips…  
The humor in Ren’s eyes is giving way to something else, something like reverence. It’s a good look on him, Enoch decides, kissing the line of Ren’s jaw, rubbing the jut of Ren’s hips with his thumb. There’s a hitch in Marcus’s breath, a low whine as Enoch’s hands drift down further.  
  
“Bast.”

/  
  
They’d spoken since Enoch’s blunder in the hanger, by that time Marcus was a familiar sight enough for Enoch to gather more coherency. It was once in the Cosmodrone, that Enoch remembered the clearest. He was there for a patrol in the shipyard, heard the familiar sound of a sparrow, watched a guardian jump a cliff nearby, executing a sequence of five perfect barrel rolls before landing. It was impressive and reckless—a hunter, certainly.

The guardian seemed to notice him watching and pulled up, Enoch recognized the sparrow and the crimson-shelled ghost. Marcus Ren.

“Oh, hey,” Enoch said.  
  
“Hiya Bast,” Marcus said. “Patrolling?”  
  
“Yeah,” Enoch took a moment to scan the area for any sign of Fallen, found none. “You?”  
  
Marcus slapped the side of his sparrow. “Practicing. Trying to set a personal best.”  
  
“He’s not even close,” Didi said.  
  
Marcus gave his ghost a playful flick. “I just need to do a few more laps—Wanna join?”  
_  
Race with Marcus? Alone?_ “H-hell yeah,” Enoch said.

Ren led him through the shipyard, through the rocketyard, all across the Cosmodrone taunting him over the comms the entire time. They took sharp turns, jumps, Enoch marveled at the effortless execution of everything Ren did. Despite Marcus Ren’s casual, excitable recklessness, there was a clear precision. And as the sun started to set, casting long shadows across the hollowed-out shells of old bomber planes, Enoch admired the sight of Ren’s silhouette, cloak whipping out behind him like a banner.  
It became a regular thing for them—They talked, shared lunch, Marcus even helped him complete some of his patrol missions. Enoch’s fire team teased him about it when they found out.

“Want to go with us on patrol?”  
  
“Nah, he wants to go alone so he can go on a date with Ren.”  
  
“Wait, _Marcus_ Ren? He’s out of your league, Bast.”  
  
“Bullshit, I’ve seen how Ren watches you, Enoch.”

/   
  
The choked whine Ren makes when Enoch sinks in, bottoms out, is just as good as the feeling. Marcus pushes the pace faster almost immediately, gripping Enoch’s shoulders for balance, breaths ragged. The sex is exactly how they race— Marcus in it for the speed, pushing the limit and Enoch using every ounce of discipline just to keep up. _At least in this, size and strength count for something_ , Enoch muses.

“ _A_ - _shit.t.t_ —“ Ren stutters, he’s slowed now, whole body shaking. “Bast.”  
  
Enoch lifts Ren up at the hips.  
  
“You know, Hunters may be faster,” He says, shifting Marcus down onto his back, kissing his knees then settling in between them. “But Titans last longer.”  
  
Marcus laughs between desperate gasps as Enoch fucks him. “ _Tha-_ That’s a good line.”  
  
Enoch dictates the pace now, Marcus no longer at the lead, just along for the ride. He watches Marcus’s face, watches that grin go wide, go desperate, crack and shatter completely, give way to something else— _he’s there, he’s close_ —The sound Marcus makes when he comes is enough to push Enoch off the edge.

/ 

The race is still mostly a blur— hitting as many gates as he can, eyes always on the red jacket in front of him. Several times Ren glances back— Is he gloating? Probably. Could he sense the finality in this race? And after, at the bar, Ren doesn’t even seem mad about losing, grins wide whenever a fan congratulates Enoch on the win. He’s faced with that question again: _Did you throw the race, Marcus?_ Does it even matter whether he did? Cause Marcus is warm underneath him, Marcus is his and wasn’t that why he wanted to win so badly in the first place? To impress him? To be with him? To follow along forever no matter where Marcus raced off to— just as fast, just as reckless…

/

There’s a moment of nothing, just labored breaths, then Enoch sighs, lowers himself onto Marcus, resting his head on his shoulder. Ren kisses his ear, puts his arms around his neck.  
  
“ _Wow_ ,” Ren says, laughs. "Now  _that_ was a race."   
  
Despite how out of breath he is, Enoch manages to laugh along with him.

 

 


End file.
